


Pheromones

by RedDeadDoofus



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, Arthur survives, Depression, Dirty Talk, F/M, Mating Bond, My name is Sue how do you do, Possessive Arthur, Possessive Sex, Romance, Shameless Smut, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Werewolf Fights, no TB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 11:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDeadDoofus/pseuds/RedDeadDoofus
Summary: It hasn't been easy since the mountain. Arthur Morgan felt like he was scarcely living. The man rode from town to town, a ghost in the wind, kept alive and rambling for reasons beyond his own understanding. It wasn't living - Life was just about outrunning the memories. Deep in West Elizabeth Arthur loses himself in a hunt and unwittingly finds a new reason to live.Warning! Animal death, gory battle sequence, and hardcore smut.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan & Reader, Arthur Morgan & You, Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 209





	Pheromones

**Author's Note:**

> Tuberculosis doesn’t exist in RDR2 and you can’t tell me otherwise. Lycanthropy as an STD definitely exists. 
> 
> This one shot is the direct result of listening to a horrific amount of werewolf - themed power metal. At some point I figured if I wrote it all down I could move on with my playlist, but it hasn’t happened yet. God, someone save me. 

The saloon was packed. The dirty, familiar room hummed with the usual array of gossip, flirtations, and insults. Arthur Morgan nursed his glass as he watched warily. Despite the bustle and the noise and the verbal pissing contests, the room felt empty. If he listened hard enough through the din, Arthur could almost hear the voices of companions long since dead. The place stank of memories. The big man sighed and reclined, leaning back dangerously far in his chair. With his hat slung low over his brow he scanned the room. He wasn’t expecting to find anything to pique his interest - nothing did anymore.

There was some drunken feller touting his miracle oils, and another fixin’ to come to blows with his neighbor.  _ Poor prospects for robbin’ or a distraction, _ Arthur thought wearily. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure why he was here. It had been a long time since he’d been back in these parts. He wasn’t sure why he was back this far east at all, actually. Every vistage, every town held ghosts he wasn’t ready to face. He hurt too much. 

He’d been a ghost himself, a rambler in the wind for some time since Micah and Dutch had left him for dead on the mountain. When he’d come to the sun was bright and painful on his skin. He’d managed to drag himself to cover before he passed out again. When he woke the second time he’d gathered what he could and headed west. He hadn’t looked back in the months that followed until recently, when he had found himself absent mindedly turning his gelding east. It had been muscle memory from there, and here he was. Reluctant and wary, but back in the memories again.

Arthur was ready to give up on finding a distraction in this town when someone at the poker table to his right mentioned a wolf. He listened with empty bemusement while a young man - just a kid, really - protested to his fellow players.

“Of course I could do it!” The youth argued. “You don’t think I could?!”

His closest companion snorted.

“I know ye’ couldn’t. You ain’t yet, have ye’? Bet ye’ were too scared t’ even look fer’ the thing.” Sloppy drunk, the older man sagged in his seat. He hawked something back in his throat and spat it on the floor before returning to contemplate his cards.

“I seen it!” The youngest man insisted. 

“You ain’t seen it,” The third companion drawled. He poked an accusatory finger in the youth’s face. “If you’d seen it, you’d be dead, just like that Ned asshole. And we’re still feckin’ stuck with you.”

The youngest man flushed as he slammed down his fist. “I seen it!” He bellowed. “I seen it over by that Hanging Dog place! Huge, the size of some sort’a pony!” Spittle flew onto the table. 

“Tell you what. You go find that thing, you bring it back, you’ll have tha’ reward and I’ll apologize to the mighty hunter. How ‘bout that?” His companion sneered. The youth scowled back. 

Behind them, Arthur slid from his spot in the corner and slipped out the door as quietly as he’d come. He’d heard enough. A dangerous hunt might be just what he needed.

~~~

If Arthur pretended a little, he could imagine he was alone in West Elizabeth. It was easy to forget the squalor of civilization and all the hell that came with it when he stood in the meadows and drank in the wild. The wildflowers brushed his thighs and tickled his palms when he dropped his hands to walk among them. Pollen tickled his nose and bird calls resonated through the breeze. Somewhere, a bull bugled. Without the shouts of men and the rattle of carts, the world felt a little kinder and a little more hopeful. Arthur felt at peace here, as much as he could. 

He’d ridden some time to get here and had set up camp as soon as he’d arrived. It had been a long day on the road and he and his horse were weary. He’d woken in the night with a cold sweat and not known where he was. What he’d frantically mistaken for the bright lights of a city in his sleep haze was just the cold glow of the milky way. He’d watched it until his pulse slowed and he could appreciate the vast cold beauty of it. It was fading when he finally fell back to sleep, and he slept better than he had in weeks. 

Come morning he set out to restock his food stores. He intended to craft some bait from whatever he caught. With any luck, it would bring the fabled huge wolf right to him. He left his slow big bay gelding back in the meadow to graze but took his bolt action rifle. A set of fresh elk tracks led him across a stream and close to the forest. When he found the herd he settled low into the grass and let the world grow clear and cold in his sights. Time slowed as he settled on the bull. It idly flicked an ear as he pulled the hammer. Arthur pulled the trigger. His gut told him that the shot was true as soon as he’d fired it, so Arthur let the coolness of his focus flit away. His emotions flooded back just in time to see his shot land.

The bull crumpled in a spray of red mist. The cows around him blanched and scattered. Something else startled and dashed away through the tall grass. Arthur scrambled forward after the disturbance. He grabbed his binoculars just in time to see the grass at the edge of the treeline part and still. He would have missed the wolf if he hadn’t been looking for it. The tawny pelt and creamy belly blended into the grass perfectly. It was a massive thing with a lean, powerful body. Through the binoculars he watched as she twitched a caramel ear and turned to stare directly at him. The glint of cool grey eyes was unnerving and unexpected. When he lowered the binoculars to raise his rifle, she had disappeared. 

He’d skinned and processed his elk as quick as he could. By the time he’d whistled for his horse and the old gelding had come, he was humming with the urge to hunt. He tracked her for hours. When it seemed like he was close he would dismount and leave Sue to graze. Arthur was startled enough by the she-wolf’s size - he could only imagine how Sue would react. But by the time he was a few dozen yards further down the track the paw prints would stretch into a lope and Arthur would be forced to whistle and mount his gelding again. When dusk came Arthur grudgingly called off the camp for the night and set up camp. With his belly full of elk and his mind heavy with the hunt he drifted off into a deep sleep beneath the stars. 

~~~

The wolf had been watching him all day. When she slipped closer to watch him that night his horse wickered nervously. When the breeze shifted upwind she padded closer on large, silent paws. This man had taken the bull elk before she could, and she had been a bit bitter about it. But that had been before she slipped into his camp and past the dying coals of his fire. That was before she’d stood close and watched the rise and fall of this man’s sleeping form. 

He was dirty and rough, but beneath the layer of grime and stubble was a set of ruggedly handsome features. Sandy colored hair poked messily from beneath an old black leather hat. He had a broad, crooked nose, obviously poorly set after several breaks, and a set of scars on his chin. A pair of full lips rested partly open with sleep. A ghost of a relaxed smile curved it into a peaceful expression. It made him look years younger than how he had looked earlier, the she-wolf decided. She quite liked him like this. 

There was something about him that made her want to remember what it felt like to live as a woman again. Her mother had called her Nathalie, but it had been a long time since anyone with a human tongue had used her name. She had done her very best to forget it for years. To think of her humanity now was strange, but not unpleasant. 

She nosed through his satchel and around his boots for a bit. When she found a small book she was so intrigued and startled by the smell of graphite and sorrow and of the man’s own unique scent that she forgot herself and bumped it with her nose. It left a muddy smear on the cover. The wolf huffed and stepped backward. When she slipped away to pursue her own sleep, her thoughts chased her through the night.

~~~

The second day Arthur had woken in a good mood. He chalked it up to the good weather and gorgeous scenery. That had lasted until he’d squatted to start a pot of coffee and placed his knee directly over a mammoth proportioned paw print. To his further horror and dismay he found them all over his campsite and even up to a foot away from where he’d slept. Sue only flicked an ear at him while he swore. He didn’t shake the deep unease he felt until he was mounted and miles away. If there was any blessing to this, it was that the she-wolf had left a clear set of tracks for him to follow. That she’d left them starting from his campsite was something he was unlikely to forget anytime soon. 

The idiots in Valentine had mentioned that the wolf had killed someone. That hadn’t been surprising to Arthur.  _ They hadn’t mentioned it’d be smart, _ Arthur grimaced.  _ Smart and curious.  _ That it had forayed into his camp and not attacked either Sue or Arthur was confounding. It was a small mercy it didn’t have a pack. The she-wolf was turning out to be a big enough headache as it was - It was no wonder that there was a reward on the thing’s head. 

Arthur’s brow was firmly worried over his eyes for the better half of the morning. It relaxed on the hunter’s face when the tracks began looking fresher, but his scowl was back in full force when he realized the wolf had led him in a big loop. The loops continued throughout the day. Whenever Arthur lost the trail he’d find another in the opposite direction, too fresh for comfort. Another time he found a spot where the wolf had clearly laid down, seemingly to wait for him to catch up, before trotting through mud just a few scant minutes past. By mid-afternoon he was throwing his hat and cussing every time the trails looped, crossed, or were fresher than they should have been.

Nathalie was enjoying it. 

He threw his hands into the air and exclaimed something indistinct when he found the carefully placed waste she had left for him. He must have given up for the day, as he shot the next rabbit that crossed his path and grumbled something when he turned his horse back towards the meadows. 

She let him cool off for a bit on his own for a few hours before she loped after his scent. She caught up easily, and quickly found his new campsite. She hesitated on the outskirts, uncharacteristically nervous. She hadn’t done what she was about to do for many seasons. She wasn’t sure why she was here at all, following this man, but she wasn’t one to stop herself now. 

She inhaled deeply and let herself chase the feeling the cold air being pulled through her lungs. Nathalie focused on the core of her own presence. She felt tight in her chest. The human was still there, where the warmth had always been. She tugged on it, and it all came flooding back. The shift was quicker than she remembered. Just a short minute later saw her naked and human form stumble and pitch forward. Instinctively she threw a hand out to catch herself against a tree. She felt deaf and strange without scent and sound flooding her. 

Nathalie took a quick steadying breath and studied herself. She was still as she remembered herself. Her hips were wide and stocky and supported by a pair of strong, shapely thighs. She was pleased to feel her breasts again - they were full, and she’d always been proud of her figure. Her mass of caramel hair, once restrained with ribbons, hung down in wild curls. But she was different than she had been a few years ago as well. She was tanned and wild. She felt beautiful. 

When she was sure she wouldn’t fall again she took an experimental step, and then another. With a little huff of breath she set her shoulders back and strode into the hunter’s campsite. 

Arthur was busy with the fire when he heard something move off to his right. The big man swung to his feet in an instant, the fire forgotten.

“Christ!” Arthur started. His hands spasmed to his guns and cleared them of their holsters before he could comprehend the sight. His eyes were big as he took in the woman’s state. 

“Christ,” he repeated, gentler this time. “Miss, y’ alright?” He crouched and slowly re-holstered his guns. Still crouched he slowly raised his empty hands in front of his shoulders. He looked like a man trying to tame a wild horse. Nathalie swallowed a smile at the thought. He was clearly trying not to scare her. Nathalie tilted her head a little as she watched him.

“I’m going to grab you a blanket, here. Yer’ alright, girl,” the big man cooed. This time she tucked a small lopsided smile into her shoulder. His eyes combed her body quickly, searching for bruises or wounds. There were none, of course. She hoped he liked what he saw.

“What happened, are you hurt? Are the men who did this still in the area? Let’s get you by the fire, an’ warmed up.” 

He approached her tentatively, offering her an old, patched wool blanket. When she didn’t respond he gently came closer and unfurled the thing, then slowly draped it over her shoulders. The way his ears flushed red as he averted his eyes made her smile despite herself. 

She would have thought him bumbling if she hadn’t been studying him the way he was trying not to study her. He wasn’t bumbling at all, of course. He moved like a predator. His movements were agonizingly slow, but smooth. He was shockingly graceful, fluid even, for such a big man. Nathalie would have been wary if she didn’t already trust him.

And how could she not trust him? She felt like she knew him. She read him like a book, from his mannerisms to his scent. And what a scent it was. She had trailed it all day of course, but now she felt dizzy in him. He smelled like leather and mint and wool, like guilt and kindness and an overwhelming, aching sadness. She wanted to curl up beside him and bathe in those smells, to replace that grief with a promise and tender touch. Instead she let him gently lead her into the campsite and down to the fireside.

She eyed it curiously while she settled. Arthur watched, brow furrowed. After a minute she spoke.

“I’m - ” Her voice cracked. She paused and tried again. “I’m well.” Her voice sounded hesitant, like the words were unfamiliar. Arthur wondered vaguely if she was foreign. He listened closely for an accent, but he couldn’t find one.

“The one who did this is -” She hesitated, seemingly looking for the right words. “He’s long gone.” At that she smiled wolfishly. 

Arthur nodded curtly, watching her from under his hat while he stoked the fire. She didn’t have more to say and Arthur wasn’t going to push it. The feral woman watched the fire with alien fascination. As he studied her she held her hand up to the flame. She wavered closer, leaning too far into the fire. When a tongue of flame met her open palm she snatched her hand away and stared at it as if checking for marks. 

Arthur cleared his throat.

“You hungry?” He asked. “I was just about to cook up some rabbit I caught earlier.”

“I saw,” Nathalie smiled. Her crooked grin was bold, too bold. 

Arthur was taken aback by the way she carried herself. Undaunted, unabashed, and intense. The way she looked at him - was that desire? Open desire? If it was, she wasn’t being shy about it. She took her time observing him, her gaze scalding his skin. He could feel his ears and the back of his neck burning as he flushed, unused to the attention. He scratched at his hair self consciously, too aware of how long he’d let it get. He hadn’t had a woman look at him like this in a long time. He was torn between hoping she’d look away and hoping she would never stop.

His head felt heavy. He cleared his throat and turned to his horse. The old gelding was hitched to a nearby oak. Sue huffed the air and flicked his head nervously. Arthur ran his hand absentmindedly along the horse’s neck while he pulled the rabbit from the saddle bag, murmuring something wordlessly soothing. The big bay horse stilled, but his nostrils continued to flare.

“You got a horse, miss...?” Arthur asked while assembled the cooking spit. The woman watched this too. He meet her gaze when she didn’t answer immediately. She grimaced when she realized his question was twofold. 

“Not for a long time.” Looking away, she replied. Her brow furrowed. “My name is…” 

The outlaw waited patiently. 

“Nathalie, it was Nathalie,” the woman finished, mouth quirked into a little frown. Her brow was knit tight in thought.

Arthur smiled, and shook his head a little. He lent forward to turn load the spit.

“Well it’s a real pleasure t’ meet yeh, miss Nathalie. You can call me Arthur.” 

Nathalie nodded, as if this made sense. 

They didn’t say much more until the meal was ready. Arthur noted with some amusement that she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. She fisted the meat with a two hand grip. When she bit deeply into the hot meat she flinched, and immediately spat the steaming bite out. Arthur did his best not to smile and very slowly blew over his portion. She watched and hesitantly pantomimed him after a long pause. 

“You need a ride tomorrow, Miss Nathalie?”

Nathalie shook her head. Deftly she ran a small, pink tongue over the grease on her hands. When that wasn’t enough she slipped her fingertips into her mouth. Arthur tried not to watch the way her tongue flicked over her fingers, but he couldn’t help but stare. Her confidence, the way she moved, even the self assurance in her own peculiarities - it was strangely alluring. He could watch her for days. And when she shifted positions and her blanket slipped, revealing the swell of a tanned breast, he flushed and looked away. If she noticed her own indecency, she didn’t care. It was several minutes before the goosebumps on her forearms led her to cover herself more thoroughly.

To distract his wandering thoughts Arthur turned and rummaged into his satchel until he returned, holding a chocolate bar up for Nathalie to see. She said nothing and just stared. Arthur grinned and peeled back the wrapper.

“I figure some of this couldn’t hurt. You ever had it before?” When she said nothing he continued, lips curved into a boyish smile. His broad, calloused fingers quickly cracked a few squares loose and offered them to her. “It’s pretty good. Sweet. Think you’ll like it.”

After a moment she hesitantly accepted, but waited until Arthur had popped a square in his mouth before she copied him. Her eyes opened wide as she chewed. Arthur chuckled when she finished and immediately looked to him for more. 

They finished the chocolate bar quickly after that. He almost retrieved his last candy bar to split with her, but he restrained himself. It was delightful to watch Nathalie’s child-like bliss, but he figured it was better to save the chocolate for another, colder and lonelier night. He rolled out his bedroll for her and motioned to it. She gingerly moved onto it, and settled more comfortably once Arthur smiled at her. She shimmied to one side of the blankets and watched him. When he didn’t move she patted the blanket beside her. Arthur immediately flushed. 

“You are not joining me?” Her expression was naively innocent, but the glint in her wide gray eyes was mischievous. 

“I’ll, uh, be over here. I’ll keep watch,” Arthur stated lamely. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes to hide whatever he was sure was written on his face. Nathalie nodded, accepting his answer. She settled down quickly and was deep asleep within five minutes. Arthur envied her. He watched her and wondered about her while he kept guard. When he was sure she wouldn’t wake he pulled his journal into his lap and began to write. Arthur’s eyes drooped lower in time with the flames of the dying firelight. 

~~~

Nathalie was gone in the morning. Arthur had fallen asleep at some point in the night, and he woke to an awkward pinch in his neck. He wasn’t totally surprised to see his guest had left. She was certainly an odd one. A feeling in his gut told him that wouldn’t be the last he’d see of her. 

The shirt he’d planned on wearing that day was missing, as well as his last chocolate bar. More frustrating was a large set of paw prints bordering his campsite and leading away and into the woods. 

Arthur had practically growled. Somewhat resigned, he swung himself into Sue’s saddle and began tracking once more. The morning and then the afternoon passed quickly, and both were just as productive as the day’s prior. Arthur’s frustration was dimmed by the enigma of Nathalie. She’d been strange, sure, but Arthur had met odder. It was something else that drew him to her. Her boldness had tickled him. He was hard pressed to forget the mischievous glint in her eyes and the way she’d smiled at him. Strangest of all, he’d realized with a start, was the way he’d entirely forgotten his worries and his exhaustion while they had talked. She was heavy on his mind for this reason as he rode, and it was Nathalie he was mulling over when Sue whinnied uneasily and stalled. 

Arthur frowned and reined the big horse back into position on the trail. The horse’s ears were low against his skull. 

“What are ye doin’, bud? C’mon, let’s move,” he murmured. He patted Sue’s neck reassuringly and gently kicked him forward again. The bay tossed his head and shifted into a fast trot. Arthur’s brows quirked as he guided his horse forward. He was looking for a cougar when the roar of a bullet deafened him. Something hot and wet sprayed his face, neck, and hands. He responded milliseconds later, but it was too late. The old gelding crumpled beneath Arthur, dead instantly. 

Arthur’s shout was swallowed by the yelling of men and the crack of guns. Arthur hit the ground hard and for a moment was aware only of the air whooshing out of his lungs. That lasted until he saw the shadows of men streaming out from alongside the path. With a hoarse growl the outlaw rolled and careened into a trailside bush. He was firing his bolt action rifle before he could think to do otherwise. Muscle memory washed over his body and mellowed the kick of the rifle on his shoulder. The men looked like ranch hands, but their weapons and their aim was much better than Arthur was comfortable with.  _ Laramie gang,  _ Arthur’s thoughts offered unhelpfully. 

His bolt action was his favorite for hunting, but the recovery speed was not assisting in Arthur’s favor. Men fell in his sights but more moved in to replace them. His hat shot back off his head following the heat a bullet come too close. Arthur swore and stumbled backwards and deeper into the woods. There were too many. Fresh rounds slipped through his fingers, slippery with his poor horse’s blood. He scrambled to reload his rifle as he crouched behind a boulder. Another bullet chipped the rock next to his torso. 

Someone shrieked triumphantly in his ear and Arthur saw the barrel of a shotgun swing towards him. Arthur grabbed the length of his rifle and slammed the butt of it into the approaching man’s face. He twisted his body to the side just in time to feel the heat of the muzzle slid past his back even as he met his target’s nose with a sickening crunch. The man screamed and dropped the shotgun to clutch his face. Arthur spun to shoot the man point-blank and kick his body aside. 

Someone else shouted and Arthur dove forward to down the new opponent. Somewhere in front of him, someone screamed. Arthur would have noted it as his bullet meeting it’s mark, but it was followed by another man’s scream and a new volley of gunfire, now directed somewhere to Arthur’s left. Arthur used the new distraction to down two more men. He skidded into the cover that the bodies had formerly occupied and chose his next target. 

A man in a blue bandana settled in the outlaw’s sights. Even as Arthur pulled the trigger the man fell and screamed in horror. Something answered with a vicious snarl and yanked the man back several feet. The man’s leg snapped resoundingly, and Arthur saw bone as a wolf leapt forward and slammed her jaws around the man’s neck. Arterial blood spurted around the animal’s snarling muzzle. 

It was the wolf Arthur had been stalking for the last day and a half. She was a huge mass of cold, animalistic fury. Rage rolled off her body like a blast of icy air - Arthur could feel it race down his own body in response. Up close, the wolf was larger than Arthur had thought. She was spectacular, a writhing force of rippling muscle and fluid movements. The power rippling underneath the wolf’s thick amber pelt was immense, and it poured from her as she thrashed her prey. Blood darkened the creamy off-white of her belly, paws, and muzzle. 

The man with the bandana didn’t scream again, but the wolf did not stay stationary. The hair on the back of Arthur’s neck tingled as he watched her, his hands momentarily still on his rifle. That lasted until a bullet bit into the grass next to his foot. Arthur let muscle memory take over and guide him into a cool, time slowing haze. He fired through it and was dimly satisfied to see each of his bullets find their marks. 

He didn’t have time to think about the wolf he’d been tracking or the way she tore through men’s throats as easily as wet cloth somewhere beside him. There were no questions, no time for marveling. There was only a never ending stream of targets and the comforting burn of his rifle on his shoulder. . 

Fire.

Close the bolt.

Fire.

Close the bolt.

Fire. 

Gunsmoke burned Arthur’s nose. Someone else shrieked.

Close the bolt.

Fire.

A rush of fur through the aspens, bright with burgundy. Something snapping. 

Close the bolt.

Fire. 

Close the bolt.

Fire. 

The world rushed back, flooding Arthur with his senses and the normal rush of time. Beyond the dull whine of tinnitus he heard shouting, but the air was still. No bullets struck around him. Warily Arthur dropped his gaze from the rifle’s sights and rose into a crouch. As his hearing returned Arthur glanced around more fervently, scoping the trees around him for further threat of whistling bullets or unsheathed blades. There was nothing but a dull groan from a few yards to Arthur’s left. 

Arthur advanced guardedly, the sight inches from his eye. When he saw the source he stilled and raised his rifle. There was a man sprawled on the ground, his hands clawed into the bed of leaves in Arthur’s direction. He was alive, although clearly hurting. One of his knees bulged and twisted grotesquely, leaving his leg splayed in a direction it should never have faced. The man’s face was contorted in pain and anger, but he wasn’t looking at Arthur. His hands shuffled through the leaf litter, frantically feeling for something. 

A low grow stilled the man’s movements. Three yards back from the man’s boots stood the wolf. Slowly and deliberately she stalked forward. From Arthur’s vantage point he could see fear drain the color in the man’s face. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t twist to face the oncoming threat fast enough, but the man knew what was coming. His lips sneered around yellowed teeth as one of his fists tightened around something on the ground. 

The wolf leapt. Leaves scattered in a violent cascade of colors around the man’s form as he flailed. Burgundy and scarlet joined the selection of fall colors in drops and rivulets and pools. Arthur just watched. He watched as the wolf tore into the man’s shoulder, and how the man was yanked over and onto his back between the beast’s forelimbs. He watched as the she-wolf ripped through cloth and skin and bone with a fervent, enraged need. He watched and found himself empty of fear. Empty of fear, and, to Arthur’s mellowed surprise, empty of shock, anger, loneliness, or exhaustion. In this strange, violent moment he felt right, and he felt safe. Something within him told him he was going to be more okay than he had been in a long time. 

The man screamed something wordless and desperate and arced his arm high overhead. Light flashed on steel. It was a wild, frantic blow, but it was obvious that the knife would find its mark in the wolf’s neck. 

Arthur acted without thinking. Some long forgotten drive in his heart told him to act, and he did. The man’s head burst with a crescent of cruor and grey matter. The glen reverberated with the sound of his shot. When the ringing ceased, Arthur found himself gazing at his quarry with nothing but a lowered gun between them. Logic screamed a warning at him, but something else made his hands drop his rifle to the leaf litter below.

The wolf whined. Grey eyes flicked up to meet his as she ducked her head. Her ears dipped back against her skull and she licked her lips once. Arthur couldn’t look away. That feeling, the one of security and hope and solid reassurance, washed over him again. Arthur’s knees nearly buckled in response and he swayed on his feet. The wolf whined again and shuffled back, away from Arthur and the mess at her feet that was once a man. She whimpered as Arthur staggered again. When he reached out a shaky hand, she turned and ran. She was gone before Arthur could even try to comprehend the feeling in his chest. 

Arthur dropped to his knees. His hands clenched into the leaf litter while he gasped. The tears came then, fast and hot and out of his control. He wasn’t sure what he was crying for - Whether it was the loss of his horse or the loss of that feeling or both. He didn’t know. 

He just knew that something inside him had changed.

When he found he could stand again, he rose back to unsteady feet. Dazedly he assembled what he could of his gear and said his final goodbyes to his gelding. When he stroked the big horse’s mane one more time, he was surprised to feel the heat of tears flowing down his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed he was crying again. He felt numb. 

The big man left the scene of the ambush behind him and followed the first stream he found. It was near dark when it occurred to him that he needed to assemble a camp for the night. He built the fire first, stoking it unnecessarily high. His bedroll lay where he had dropped it, so he kicked it open and flat with the toe of his boot while he warmed himself. When he ground his palm over his scruff he was dimly surprised to feel an expanse of dried blood. Looking down, he realized he was filthy with it. The front of his shirt was saturated and stiff with a rust-brown stain.

He followed the sound of the river back to the waterside. He shrugged out of his shirt, thumbed the worst of the discoloration, and plunged it elbow-deep into the water. The shock of the cold was welcomed, but Arthur flinched nonetheless. When he’d rinsed it the best that he could he wrung it and tossed it to his side. Taking another deep breath he cupped the frigid stream into his hands and let it pool there. He splashed it into his face and gasped into the cold. 

“They didn’t get you, did they?” a soft voice asked from behind him. 

Arthur twisted to look. It was the girl, Nathalie. Something low in his gut hummed at the sight of her. She slumped her weight against an aspen and watched him, her clear grey eyes intense and guarded. Her hair was damp and dark in the fading daylight. She wore the shirt Arthur had noticed missing from his satchel that morning. Dampness pasted the shirt to her back and sides where her curls rested. 

Arthur supposed he should have been scared of her, of the way she came and went and of what he was starting to suspect. Instead he felt oddly at peace. He overrode it to gather some semblance of wariness and grit. 

“Nah, not this time.” He paused, and met her gaze. “Did they get you?”

Nathalie smiled gently and shook her head. 

Arthur’s mouth felt a little dry. 

He’d heard stories of wolf men, had even met some poor mad bastard who lived like a wolf. But this was different. Nathalie was different. He’d suspected something when he’d woken that morning, but couldn’t voice it. He didn’t know how to voice it. But having seen the wolf in the battle earlier and seeing her here now, he knew. 

It felt impossible, but at the same time it felt right. How could she not be the same beast he’d been following? Maybe somewhere in his subconscious he’d known all along. 

Wordlessly he pulled the damp shirt back over his body and stepped towards his visitor. When he was within a step or two away she extended her hand towards him. A bit hesitantly, Arthur slid his hand into hers. Her palm was warm and reassuring. Gently she tugged him to follow her as she stepped back to the little camp he’d managed to set up. She stilled at the foot of his bedroll. He watched the camp fire glint in her curls, igniting them into a color akin to sun-lit honey. When she sank to the ground he followed easily. 

“Arthur.” She said his name like a plea or a prayer. He wasn’t sure if it was the way she said his name or the questions he was about to ask that made his knees feel weak. 

"I'm sorry about your horse," she began quietly. 

Arthur turned away and swatted a hand at nothing. He hid the tight, exhausted line of his grimace to the side. He didn't want to think about everyone he'd lost, even the bitter old horse he'd picked up along the road. Sue hadn't been much to look at, and he hadn't been with Arthur long, but he'd been a good horse. If they kept talking about his horse he was pretty sure he would cry again.

Considering everything that had happened that day, it was much easier to talk about Nathalie - no matter how bewildering she was. Despite what his brain told him about her, he found solace in her, in the quiet and gentle sympathy in her expression and the warmth of her small hands. 

“I… ain’t ever met anyone like you before,” he started, swallowing. Their knees barely touched.

Nathalie looked down, tracing his rough hands with her fingertips. It sent pleasant, electric tingles up his spine. 

“I hadn’t either,” she confessed quietly. Looks up, looking him right in the eye. “The man who made me this way - he never asked. He wasn’t a good man. He didn’t help me through it or teach me, and he wasn’t kind.”

Arthur waited while she paused.

“He didn’t want a mate, he wanted a submissive dog to order and to fuck. So I killed him.” Nathalie chewed slowly on her bottom lip. She was looking down and away from him again. When Arthur didn’t recoil or say anything she continued. “I didn’t ask for this and I don’t want to be alone. But… it’s not all bad.”

“What’s it like?” Arthur asked, voice barely above a whisper. Nathalie smiled.

“It’s breathtaking. I’m so free. I think I had a husband once, a house. I must have been happy like that, but I can’t imagine it now. Nothing compares to the power, the ease of being. I know my place in the world. I’m part of it all, in the most exhilarating way. It’s headying. You can feel everything. Even now I can  _ feel _ you, and the way you feel about me. I’m - I’m not wrong, am I? Do you feel that too?” There was something like uncertainty in her voice for the first time. 

Arthur absolutely felt it. She felt magnetic. His skin hummed from her proximity. He was certain he should have been scared of her, of what she was. He couldn’t bring himself to feel fear. He wanted to pull her closer, to tuck her into his arms and onto his lap. He wanted to feel the weight of her against him and to hold her tight. 

He must have hesitated, gotten lost in her for a moment, because she leaned forward and even closer to him and ghosted her hand gently over his cheekbone. It came to rest there and she stilled. 

“Of course I do,” he murmured. To his shame he heard his voice crack over the words. Nathalie only hummed in response. Her lips flicked into a small, satisfied smile. 

“Nathalie,” he continued, swallowing hard. “What is this? What’s happening here? Between us, I mean.” Arthur dropped his head a little, leaning into her touch. It took Nathalie’s breath away when he lifted the azure of his gaze to meet hers. He was an outlaw, and he carried himself like one. He was unwavering and self-assured, but there was an uncertain and tentative man there in his eyes.

“It’s a mate bond, I think,” she responded hesitantly. “I don’t really know. I’ve only heard about them. It happens when your wolf chooses someone. In the stories, they say they say your mate exhales the air you breathe. And when you inhale, your heart beats for them. I’ve never had a mate bond - it’s for life.” Nathalie paused, feeling a shiver traverse the length of her spine. “But I think, if you weren’t here, my heart might not beat at all.” 

Arthur exhaled hard. He didn’t ask what she meant by that. He knew. He knew in the way that his entire being yearned to be closer to her, to feel her and to take her into his arms. His mind warred nervously against the urge. His body knew what it wanted, but logic scolded and stilled his hands. 

“So your wolf chose me?” He murmured. He watched her through his lashes, flicking his gaze from hers to her skin in the firelight and back again. 

“No, ah,” she started, shrugging a shoulder in discomfort. “Our wolves chose each other.”

Arthur didn’t say anything to that. He couldn’t. The wave of emotions drowning his thoughts, his reasoning, was too strong. 

And then, as if Nathalie couldn’t resist doing so any longer, she slipped into his lap as if it was as easy as breathing. Arthur’s heart stuttered in his chest. He exhaled again then, long and shakily as he leaned around her. She felt  _ right.  _ Like this he felt whole. Something primal in him wanted to sustain that smile of hers, to make sure it never faded. He wanted to cover her and hold her and eliminate anything that dared get in his way, and  _ that,  _ more than anything, scared him. 

She fit perfectly against him, a warm and soft force of nature. Her knees tucked perfectly into the crook of her arms, and it felt right to tuck his arms over hers and run a calloused hand gently over the tanned expanse of one of her legs. She shimmied her bottom snugger against his groin and tucked a collection of small, slow, open mouthed kisses against his biceps. The warm, earthy spice of her filled his nose and he had to swallow a rumbling groan. 

“Together, we can be free,” She murmured. Her nose skimmed against his jaw as she leaned against him. “I want to show you everything. I want to take this all away.”

Arthur didn’t have to ask what she meant by ‘this.’ He knew his exhaustion and sorrow hung off him, off his clothes and the set of his shoulders. He could feel it in his bones - it was only natural that Nathalie could feel it too. 

“What if I said no?” Arthur asked, his voice quiet.

“Then I’d let you go,” Nathalie croaked. She wished she could see his face. She settled for tracing Arthur’s hands with her fingers. “I would never do that, I couldn’t.”

She began to pull away. She stopped when she found she couldn’t. Arthur’s arms tightened around her, simultaneously unyielding and painstakingly gentle. She wondered if that gentleness had come naturally to him, or if it was learned. He was such a large man. He already moved like a wolf, even if he didn’t know it. But she’d bet that this aching tenderness was natural to him, as natural as the way he breathed. She ached to feel all sides of him and every duality he possessed. She wanted to have him in every way - here, soft skin against soft skin, and also free and wild and feral. There was so much to feel, to enjoy, to show him. 

The big man sighed and tucked his head against her neck. Goosebumps rippled pleasantly on her body in response to the warmth of his breath. His eyelashes flicked against her cheek. 

“Would it hurt?” The deep timber of his voice rolled through her bones. 

Nathalie smiled against his temple. 

“No, not like this. Not if you don’t want it to.”

Arthur chuckled at her response and lifted his head a little. He stared into her, his blue eyes tracing her face. Unable to resist she bumped her nose into his playfully. Her lips settled a feather-light kiss on the smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“I’d be free?” He asked, his smile fading a little. 

Nathalie met his gaze seriously.

“Freer than you’ve ever been before. Free to roam, to love, free to do whatever we want.”

“And I’d be with you?” He asked, his voice still achingly low.

“With me until the day we die. You’d never be alone or forgotten ever again,” She whispered. 

Arthur almost whimpered in response. She kissed the sound away then, pressed her lips so softly against his that he worried it wasn’t really happening at all. He pulled her snugger against him and kissed her back fiercely. She met him reverently. They luxuriated in one another’s lips like that until they forgot there was anything else. Their kisses were tender, but lingered with a deeper, needier edge. 

When his tongue flicked lightly against hers, Nathalie was the first to groan. He surged into her, and in a second their hands gripped each other wildly. Something burned between them, something that had always been there. When Arthur ripped his head away to gasp for air  _ it _ was there, smoldering in his eyes like stoked coal. The heat was there too in Nathalie’s swollen lips, in the rhythmic roll of her hips against his groin. Arthur wanted to drown in that flame, wanted it to wash over their bodies until there was nothing but a burgeoning love left.

Unable to take the distance between their bodies anymore, Arthur slid his fingers down, down to cup under Nathalie’s ass. He swallowed the noise she made in response and roughly pulled her body around and over his. His fingers created pale divets on the flesh of her ass as he gripped her. Nathalie responded eagerly in kind, gripping his hair between her fingers as she spread her legs over his hips. When she ground herself against the hard pressure in his pants he growled. 

Nathalie’s shirt - Arthur’s shirt, really - was gone in the next moment, ripped clean away from her body by the hands of the outlaw. He was too impatient to worry about the clasps, and he had a feeling that neither of them would have much of a need for clothes after this. He ducked his head to her breasts as soon as they were revealed. His lips settled over a dusky nipple. When she gasped he plucked at it with a swift, light bite. Nathalie mewed and pulled his head tight to her chest. Arthur complied eagerly. He growled against her flesh when her fingers tangled and pulled in his hair. Nathalie’s only response was to tug a little harder. When his hips thrusted automatically Nathalie smiled into the back of the outlaw’s neck. She placed an open mouthed, sharp little bite there and his body shivered in response. 

Despite her ministrations, the man was focused. A hand worried her other nipple while he flicked and nibbled the first. The scruff of his chin was a delicious contrast to the wet heat of his mouth. When he laved the second he looked up to watch his writhing partner. The blue of his eyes looking up at her almost finished Nathalie right there. He grinned around her as she panted and wordlessly keened. 

When she couldn’t take it anymore Nathalie frantically ripped at his collar. Stubbornly, the man kept at his assault on her breasts while his shoulders rolled out of his suspenders. He growled a protest at his partner when she pulled away to tear his shirt down his arms, but was immediately rewarded by the feel of her burning flesh against hers. They both moaned at the feeling of skin on skin. Something electric burned there. Neither had ever felt more alive then they did like this, sinking against each other and losing themselves in the burning need for the other’s pleasure. It was only a moment before Nathalie was surging forward with her hands against his chest and pushing Arthur back onto his elbows and his bedroll. 

When he tried to capture her lips with his again he was met with a finger. Nathalie pressed it there for a moment and tried to gather her thoughts. Impatiently Arthur pulled the digit into his mouth and laved at it. Nathalie laughed around a groan and pulled away.

“Arthur, Arthur, wait, wait,” she protested. The smile on her mouth didn’t fade, much to Arthur’s delight. She could feel the heat of his erection against her vulva while she tried to gather her words. It was almost impossible to concentrate as is, but she nearly gave up entirely when he ground his length against her. 

“Arthur!” She laughed. He grinned back at her from his spot on the ground. 

“Cold feet, darlin’?” Arthur asked mischievously. 

“Never.” She grinned down at him. She bucked on him before she could prevent herself and relished the way his lips parted. When she found it in herself to pull away, she did. 

“Are you sure about this, Arthur?” She stilled and stared down at him. Her brows and mouth were buckled into a serious, concerned lilt.

“Sure about what?” He asked, jokingly playing naive.

Her lips twitched but she didn’t smile.

“I need to know. Do you really want this? Do you know what you’re getting into?” Nathalie asked. 

Before he could respond she continued. If she stopped now she worried she’d never get it all out. 

“It’s not all perfect. We’ll probably rove a lot. You’d never age, not like anyone else. You’d be you still, but you’d be different,” She blabbered nervously. Arthur’s hand casually traced her shoulders, then the shape of her neck and jawline while she talked. “I mean we could still do human things like have a house and a horse but you might not want to and - ”

Arthur stilled her with a thumb gently pressed over her lip.

“But I’d be with you. Right?” He asked her gently.

“Of course.” She blinked owlishly at him. “Always. But wouldn’t you want to have babies and live in cities and …?”

Nathalie trailed off when Arthur smiled and shook his head. 

“I had my chance for all of those things,” He told her with a sad smile. “I’ve tried ‘em all. It wasn’t fer’ me. Not like this, not like you.” He paused to marvel at the way she was looking at him. When he found his train of thought he continued. “I’d be a fool to pass up on this. Now that I know you’re here, nothin’ can hold a candle. If I still have a soul, it’s yours.”

It was true. They felt like two halves of a whole. Nathalie swallowed. She’d heard about mate bonds before, but she hadn’t expected it would feel like this. It felt like she was complete without ever having known she was deficient. 

“What do we need to do?” Arthur asked. Nathalie searched him for any sign of unease or reluctance, but she couldn’t find one. She smiled back at him and raised a lascivious eyebrow. 

“Well, I’m going to give myself to you.” She leaned down conspiratorially. “I’m going to give you everything I have,” her voice was husky. Her hands traced a burning path down from his shoulders and over his chest and lower, lower still. He instinctively arched into her touch. 

“I’m going to ride you until I can’t anymore. And then you’re going to take what’s left,” she murmured against the arch of his neck. One of Arthur’s hands tensed over her hip. The other crept lower to cup her ass. It brushed dangerously close to the wet heat of her arousal. 

“You’re going to take me so hard that I can’t do a thing but cum around you, over and over again,” she growled and bucked closer to his fingers. 

Arthur hissed at her words. When he slipped his palm lower still, cupping her, she crumpled into his fingers. A calloused thumb casually brushed her clit, inducing her into a full-body shiver. 

“And when I’m an absolute mess, when I can’t go any farther -” she gasped. Her hips rolled against his hand, which in turn ground it against the strain of Arthur’s cock. Arthur grunted in response and bit Nathalie’s collar bone. She mewed and Arthur grinned into her skin. 

“When you can’t go any farther?” He prompted devilishly. Before she could respond he slipped a finger into her heat and beckoned. She cried out and arched into his palm. Her eyes were wild, her pupils huge with lust. Arthur captured her lips with his and deftly slipped a second digit to join the first. His hand was slick with her arousal. His cock strained against his trousers, but he ignored his desire to savor hers. 

Nathalie panted as she rocked against him. She feverishly gripped at his chest with one hand - the other palpated over his length. The two rocked together, wordless in their pleasure.

“When I can’t go farther,” she gasped. “I’m dragging you down with me.”

Arthur laughed at that, but the sound was cut short with his own groan as she pulled his cock free and circled her thumb over the tip. She was satisfied to feel the bead of cum already there. Arthur’s fingers pulsed into her quicker in response. She bobbed on his hand haphazardly until she managed to pull down the rest of his waistband. Arthur removed his hand to help her. When she whimpered at the loss and he was as naked as she, he pulled her to the ground and rolled over her onto his hands and knees. 

His fingers quickly slid back between her folds, inducing another little cry. He began to pump into her quicker and rougher. Nathalie’s grip contrasted his with torturously slow undulations. Her hand stilled entirely when Arthur placed steady pressure against the bead of her clit and pulled a dusky nipple between his teeth. His hand began to pump hard. The noises his partner made in response were frantic and unrestrained and he knew she was very, very close.

“Say my name,” he growled. 

“A-Arthur,” she gasped. 

“Again!” He snarled. 

Her response stuttered in her throat and he felt the slick heat of her walls clench hard around his fingers. Her eyes rolled and slid shut. As she rode her orgasm he bit down hard on the column of her throat. Still pumping his hand, he used the other to guide his cock against her slick. When he felt the last of her shudders wrack her body he slid his hand away and immediately replaced them with the aching length of his cock. In a quick thrust he slammed into her, sheathing himself to the hilt.

Both Nathalie and Arthur gasped. Arthur dropped his head between Nathalie’s chest as he began to move. He started slowly, only letting himself pulse shallowly. He knew he was larger than average and he didn’t want to hurt her. In truth, she felt so deliciously good that he also knew if he let himself go now, he would lose himself and spend before he was done pleasing her. When his partner relaxed around him and arched closer he met her gaze and grinned. She matched his smirk and sunk his length deep into her. Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed with a throaty groan. 

Her fingers raked hot lines up his back and shoulders. He lost himself in her heat and her cries. When she’d fully recovered her strength Nathalie met him thrust for thrust, each one more wanton than the last. The sound of flesh on flesh reverberated through the clearing. The sound drove Nathalie wilder still with need. Her legs arched around him. In response Arthur pulled one over his shoulder and leaned forward. 

The new position gave him access to a new depth and fullness. He had to close his eyes to the sight of his mate before him, keening and panting his name. He was too close already. If he came now, before he made this woman clench around him and cry out again, he wouldn’t forgive himself. When he opened the shock of his cornflower blue eyes he found Nathalie’s hands cupping and fingering the bounce of her breasts. Her grey eyes met his. He snarled and set his thumb steadily against her clit. He was rewarded when she cried out his name. 

He was a sight to behold. His brow was furrowed harshly in pleasure and concentration. A bead of sweat shimmered on his temple when he dropped his head back, his body taut with a barely restrained white-hot orgasm. His lips were parted and slack, the picture of burning passion. She feverishly drank in the sight. When he opened his eyes again she met them and was almost bourne away by the primal heat there. 

“Whose - ”

“Are - ”

“You - ”

He growled. Each word was punctuated with a violent thrust. He was seconds away from his end. He wanted to hear it, wanted the world to hear who Nathalie belonged to as she came on his cock. 

“Yours!” She cried out. “Y-yours! I’m  _ yours _ , Arthur!”

He responded with a particularly brutal slam of his hips and she screamed as her orgasm flooded her senses. Nathalie’s fingers scrabbled over Arthur’s and locked there as she writhed. 

As she clenched around his cock, the white heat of Arthur’s orgasm washed over him. His hips bucked erratically, and he cried out with a hoarse, wordless shout. He pulsed into her, scattering ropes of spend deep into the grip of her core. Transfixed in their pleasure, the two shuddered against each other. Electricity shot through Arthur’s veins, gripping him in awareness and bliss.

When the last waves of his rapture faded Arthur crumbled over his mate, shaking with exertion. It was an eternity before the aftershocks of pleasure faded enough to let him speak. He slid an arm beneath Nathalie’s neck and gently pulled her to face him. They rode out the last of the aftershocks like that, with his face buried in the crook of her neck and her lips against his brow.

“I love you,” he breathed. His voice was muffled against her feverish skin. He knew she could feel the words on her body and this soothed him in an exhausted, mindless sort of way. He felt drunk with the scent of her. It didn’t matter that they’d only known each other so recently. His body and the beast inside of him had known her his whole life. 

“I love you too,” Nathalie whispered. Her lips pressed a smile onto his brow. She traced lazy, feather light touches over his body as their breathing slowed. His nerves sparked weakly behind the path of her fingers. It felt strange and wonderful and voltaic. He could almost swear each new touch felt more raw and more charged than the last. Every one of his senses felt sharper and vast. He would have been nervous, had he not felt so relaxed and safe in Nathalie’s arms. She pressed another kiss to his forehead and he melted into it. He let the smell and feel of her wash over him. 

When he was ready to move he rolled to his knees and, in one movement, pulled Nathalie into his arms and off the bedroll’s blankets. She squeaked in protest and he smiled. She was still grinning when he gently set her back down onto the bedroll. He swiftly settled back over her and pulled the blanket up and over them. She crooned something wordless and happy and Arthur responded with a slow, lazy kiss. They stayed like that until another wave of sensory awareness flooded Arthur’s body. Nathalie must have recognized it in the way he tensed, because she murmured soft assurances into his skin until he relaxed again. 

When the two of them finally drifted off to sleep they did so awash in the heady scent and feeling of each other. 

~~~

Once every other month or so John found himself seeing ghosts and shadows around Beecher’s Hope. It had started off just subtle enough that he thought he might have imagined it. An outlaw never learns to forget to trust his gut. So when Abigail would groan and groggily glare when John slipped from bed, he would ignore her chidings and grab his pistols from their spot in the chest. Abigail was right of course - there was never anything there. The noise of a footstep in the kitchen never bore fruit. The shadow of a man in the barn never really was a man. 

When John noticed Arthur’s hat had been moved from where he’d put it, Uncle just laughed at him. Once he’d heard something outside the house during dinner and had felt quite vindicated when Jack heard it too. He’d rushed outside only to find nothing but a pair of paw prints. He couldn’t explain his disappointment or even what he thought he would find. He learned to ignore it when he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise like there was someone nearby.

Recently the little ranch had definitely developed a wildlife problem. Wolves had never been an issue before now, but John kept seeing them. It was just two - a large honey colored female and a massive dusky brown and gray male. He’d been intent on taking them out until he’d watched the two dispatch a pair of Pinkerton agents. After that he’d figured it couldn’t hurt to let them live, so long as they didn’t bother Jack or Abigail. They never did, and he usually only saw them once or twice a year.

When he did see them, it was usually at a great distance. The exception was the time Jack had taken Old Boy out for a ride and had nearly accidentally trampled his sister. John had immediately thrown himself over her. John had been sure they were both going to die in that moment. But then the sounds of Abigail’s scream had been interrupted by a snarl and the snap of large jaws closing on empty air. When the dust of the road had settled Old Boy had flailed and bucked far in the opposite direction and left John curled over his toddler alone with a wolf.

It was the male, and he was far bigger than any wolf John had seen before. 

The massive animal had just stood there, watching John with cornflower-blue eyes. Two scars crossed the wolf’s chin and, at closer inspection, more flecked the length of his hide. When John had tentatively inched his hand toward his holster the big animal had huffed. After a moment of further stillness the wolf broke into body-long shake. Clouds of dust rolled free of the dense charcoal-brown coat. John coughed and closed his eyes reflexively. When he’d opened them again the wolf was gone. John still dreamt of those strange eyes occasionally. They reminded him of someone. He knew who, but he felt silly thinking it. He didn’t tell Abigail about his dreams, or about the memories they pulled from him. He knew she’d cry, and god, that he might too. 

So he went on with his life. He grew old with Abigail and watched their farm and children grow. And whenever he saw the big wolf and his mate John just tipped his hat and tried not to think too hard about Arthur Morgan. 

  
  
  



End file.
